All the Mistletoe's Fault
by Meowshmallowx
Summary: Seamus is hosting a Christmas party in his flat. Dean, despite wrestling with stronger-than-ever feelings for his best mate, makes a habit of coming over to help him set up a few weeks in advance. Deamus.
1. Chapter 1

_Chapter One_

Dean was waiting for Seamus to return. It was cold outside, and Dean was wearing only his sweater and his ancient Gryffindor scarf, which he'd draped haphazardly around his neck before dashing outside. After all, it wasn't a terribly long walk from his flat to Seamus's, and his friend had promised he'd be back on the dot. Dean checked his watch—seven thirty. Seamus was half an hour late. Shuddering, Dean wrapped his arms around himself, readjusting the exceedingly large roll of paper in the crook of his arm. Snow had begun to settle in lumps upon his dark curls, melting partially and freezing again. Dean closed his eyes, sucking in a deep breath and holding it for as long as he could. It was a warming trick, one his parents had taught him before he'd discovered magic, something he couldn't use at the moment due to the fact that he was standing in the midst of a Muggle residential street.

"Hey," came an unexpected voice, a hand clamping down on Dean's shoulder.

Dean jumped, his eyes popping open. At the sight of his long-awaited friend, he relaxed, exhaling quietly.

"'Lo," he replied.

"Hope I haven't kept you waiting too long?" checked Seamus, his brows knitting in concern.

Dean shrugged, too busy taking in Seamus's appearance. His hair was disheveled—more so than usual, almost as though he'd gone and blown something up again—and his cheeks were glowing about as much as his twinkling eyes. The remnant of a smile still danced about his mouth. Hurriedly, Dean tore his gaze away from Seamus's face, staring at the salt-flecked sidewalks.

"Only a bit," he lied, shrugging.

Seamus frowned, knotting his fingers in Dean's snow-piled hair and brushing all the cold powder away. Dean flinched as his friend's hand brushed the side of his face.

"Merlin, you're freezing," he exclaimed, blue eyes wide. "How long were you out here? Why didn't you put anything else on?"

"It was only half an hour," protested Dean. "I'm fine, really."

Seamus's eyebrows shot up, striving to become one with his hairline. He glanced down at his watch and swore loudly.

"Oh, bloody—" he began, cutting himself off and grabbing Dean's free wrist. "C'mon, we're going in."

Dean's wrist was warm. It was a pleasant change, one he didn't resist. Seamus fumbled with his keys, not loosening his grip for a moment, and dragged Dean inside.

"It's cold in here, too," he remarked, his voice muffled slightly by his scarf. "Mind turning the heater on?"

Seamus didn't respond, simply tugging his wand from his coat pocket and pointing it at Dean. Briskly, he muttered a hot air charm. A warm gust breathed over Dean, encapsulating him as effectively as his comforter.

"Better?" the half-blood asked, glancing up at Dean.

Dean cracked a grin.

"Much," he replied, "and you didn't even blow me up. I'm impressed."

Seamus laughed, a strange expression flickering over his face. Dean blinked and it was gone.

"Been practicing," Seamus replied, grinning.

"All to warm me in midwinter? I'm touched," he chuckled.

Seamus's grin wavered for a moment.

"You're an essential fixture in my life," Seamus told him sincerely. "Can't very well have you freezing to death, and I figured I should know how to save you from such a fate without killing you."

Dean blinked.

"I...ah...thank you," he managed, feeling heat rise in his cheeks.

Quit it, he silently commanded his face. Quit that...oh, bother... Dean felt the warmth spread all throughout him, and he shuddered slightly.

"Oops," murmured Seamus, gnawing on his bottom lip. "Hey, Dean, ah, do you remember the charm that spouts the water?"

"Yeah, it's aguamenti. Why—oh, Merlin, Seamus, I liked these pants!" cried Dean, frantically slapping at the flaming cuff of his right pant leg.

"Um...it's...er...aguamenti!" managed Seamus, splattering water all over Dean.

Dean sighed, closing his eyes. A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, and an insistent laugh bubbled up in his throat.

"Fantastic job, Seamus," he congratulated his best friend. "However, I'm afraid I didn't bring a change of clothes. I hadn't anticipated the need for it."

Seamus stared at his work in dismay, frowning.

"What size are you?" he demanded.

Dean blinked.

"'Scuse you?" he coughed.

Seamus turned a brilliant shade of tomato, his expression contorting into the exceedingly familiar face of confused embarrassment.

"'Cause I might have...ah...spare pants," he mumbled.

"No, thanks," chuckled Dean hesitantly. "Er...we should...ah...get to work, yeah?"

Seamus nodded, freeing the roll of paper from Dean's arms. He frowned, examining it for any water damage.

"I splattered it. I'm sorry, Dean, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to, and I know you worked so hard on this—" apologized Seamus, biting his lip.

"It's all good. Should dry out soon," Dean reassured him, unrolling the paper. "How do you like it, though?"

Seamus stared at it, eyes wide.

"This is stunning, Dean," he gasped. "Thank you. It'll look amazing where I've left the spot!"

Dean grinned.

"Glad you approve. Now, let's start with the decorating," he prompted Seamus.

They moved on into the living room, which was already nicely arranged. Dean raised his eyebrows, impressed.

"You did this yourself?" he asked. "Wow. There just need to be a couple touches, and it should all be done."

"I've got to live in this place for another two weeks without breaking anything. I'm not sure I'll manage," sighed Seamus glumly. "Don't think I thought the whole 'preparation in advance' business through."

Laughing, Dean shook off the handmade banner, pulling out his wand and flicking it so that it levitated.

"Where do you want it?" he asked.

"There," replied Seamus decisively, pointing.

Dean nodded dutifully, directing it with his wand and planting it up on the wall. The adhesive charms came into effect, clamping it there firmly. Seamus beamed. The two moved on, working to fix other things.

"Done," declared Dean, stepping back and bumping into Seamus. "Er...oops. Sorry."

Seamus jumped, spinning around to face Dean, eyes wild. His arms flailed, finally flinging around Dean's shoulders, hands gripping the fabric of his shirt tightly for balance. Dean blinked rapidly, quelling his racing heart at the proximity and grabbing Seamus's elbows. His lips parted slightly, yearning to press against those of his friend. Gritting his teeth, Dean resisted the urge and pulled away. He's got a girlfriend, idiot, thought Dean, swallowing.

"Sorry," exhaled Seamus awkwardly.

"Graceful," joked Dean, cracking a smile.

"Aye. Astonishingly so," agreed Seamus cheerfully. "Always been, y'know."

Dean laughed, ruffling Seamus's tawny hair and dropping into a chair. Seamus raised an eyebrow, sticking his lower lip out.

"I worked for you. What're you going to do, boot me out?" demanded Dean, burrowing stubbornly into the comfortable chair.

"No, I was going to tell you to quit sprawling. You're taking up the entire chair," Seamus reprimanded him.

With that, the wizard promptly planted himself on Dean's lap, blue eyes twinkling mischievously. Dean tensed, caught between conflicting emotions. He sucked in a tight breath, battling the yearning to wrap his arms around Seamus. Instead, he made a mewling noise of protest and slid off to one side, sending an indignant Irish boy tumbling beside him.

"At least warn me next time," he scolded Seamus. "That was quite something to just drop on me."

Seamus pouted.

"Are you calling me fat?" he asked, lower lip trembling.

"No, not at all," replied Dean, giving him a stern look. "Don't be ridiculous."

"Then why does nobody love me?" cried Seamus, flinging half himself over the side of the chair. "Am I ugly?"

"You have this perpetual swarm of females wherever we go," sighed Dean tiredly. "I do believe we've been over this before, you drama queen."

"I'm not a drama queen," retorted Seamus, releasing a wail. "Oh, Dean, you're so impossibly cruel!"

Dean frowned, recalling Seamus's prior rosy complexion and silly smile.

"That reminds me," remarked Dean, "why were you so giddy when you bumped into me earlier? Did you and your girlfriend have a particularly pleasant snog, or perhaps a pint too much to drink?"

The absurd grin dropped from Seamus's face.

"Not exactly," he muttered. "We...ah...she isn't my girlfriend anymore."

The words effectively caught whatever sarcastic words Dean had been preparing to spew in his throat. He closed his mouth, reopening it for a second. Much as he tried, he couldn't stifle the joyful leap inside his stomach, nor could he bring himself to truly be sorry. Carefully, Dean wiped any traces of jubilation from his expression, replacing it with a guarded sobriety.

"I'm sorry," he managed gravely. "However...what about this is a happy matter?"

Seamus perked right up, but there was a peculiar gleam in his eyes.

"We had a brill goodbye kiss. It was all passionate and teary and everything," announced Seamus, grinning.

"Teary?" demanded Dean. "Don't tell me you're going to be hung up on her for weeks. I'm not having you drunk and crying on my shoulder for the holiday party."

There was a jesting tone to his voice, but Seamus grimaced, not noticing it.

"Her tears, not mine. It was less of a mutual breakup and...more on my side. I honestly didn't mean to make her cry, though," sighed Seamus.

Dean pointedly ignored the little leap his heart gave at this new piece of information. Stop it, he told the offending organ irritably.

"Well...it's not your fault," was all Dean could think to say.

His voice came out hoarse, likely from the effort of not screaming several things. Cringing at the roughness of its tone, Dean rubbed his throat. Seamus's blue eyes zeroed in on the movement.

"I'll get you some pumpkin juice," he offered.

"Oh, no, it's fine," Dean assured him hastily.

"I need some, too, so I'd have been getting up anyway," responded Seamus, "and I can't stand your scratchy voice."

"Er...right. Yeah. Thanks," rasped Dean, surprised by his own voice.

Seamus winced at the sound, squirming to get free of the small space between Dean and the arm of the chair. He disappeared into the kitchen, and Dean oozed into the warm space left by Seamus. After a few moments, he returned with two goblets of orange liquid.

"Budge over," he commanded Dean. "I need space for my fat bum."

Reluctantly, Dean rolled over to one side, making room for Seamus, who planted himself there and handed him a goblet. He sipped at the pumpkin juice.

"So," he started, "why didn't you think to tell me about...your girlfriend?"

"You don't tell me about yours," pointed out Seamus. "Why should I tell you about mine if you don't spill? Speaking of which, I fully expect some information."

"I don't really date," replied Dean with a shrug. "Nothing to tell."

He filled his mouth with pumpkin juice, effectively excusing himself from the task of speaking.

"Why don't you date?" interrogated Seamus, leaning forward. "Or do you just have a secret lover?"

Dean choked on the pumpkin juice, the liquid shooting through his soft palate and out his nose.

"E-excuse you?" he coughed, shaking with laughter.

"It's a valid question," harrumphed Seamus, pouting.

"You think I, Dean Thomas, have a secret lover," he repeated, a grin spreading across his face. "Just the idea is so very...not me. The concept is likely more exciting than my entire self and life events."

"You're perfectly exciting," Seamus assured him. "But anyway, it's still a fair enough question. I mean, you're a shy person, and you might not be intentionally hiding this lover, but it's in your nature to avoid being all out there with your personal life."

"No, in all seriousness, I don't have a secret lover of any sort. I'd tell you, if no one else," Dean told him sincerely. "What, are you jealous?"

Seamus laughed, a concerned crinkle in his brow.

"Do I really come off as that clingy?" he inquired, his laugh fading into a frown.

Dean shook his head rapidly, wishing he could suck the words back in and swallow them. Stupid mouth.

"It's...I was joking," he finally covered, his gaze straying over to the clock. "Oh. Er, I've got to go, now."

Seamus made a face.

"Already?" he asked.

"Already," answered Dean, resigned. "I can come over tomorrow to help a bit more, if you want."

"Absolutely. Seven—actually seven this time, I swear," chuckled Seamus. "I won't stay out late snogging any exes this time. Actually, I'll be coming back from meeting Hermione and Ron's new baby, Rosie, so I shouldn't be out late."

Dean grinned and saluted, standing.

"Bye," he called over one shoulder.

Seamus caught his arm, tugging him close for a hug. Dean clenched his jaw, forcibly relaxing and restricting himself to patting his best friend's back.

"See you at seven," he promised.

Dean grinned and dashed off into the frigid winter.


	2. Chapter 2

_Chapter Two_

It was almost eight, and nobody was home. Dean shuddered violently, glad for the heavy coat he'd brought this time, and ran his fingers through his curls. Worry had begun to gnaw at him when his cellphone's clock had read seven fifteen, but he'd put it aside. At seven thirty, Dean had commenced pacing, as much to warm himself up as to allay his worst fears. When the clock blared seven forty-five, Dean resolved to do something if it got to eight.

"Seamus, you idiot, where are you?" he muttered, his breath escaping his mouth in frigid clouds.

His phone buzzed with a text. With freezing fingers, Dean plucked it up, checking it in the desperate hope that it was Seamus. Instead, it was Hermione.

Is Seamus with you? the text read.

Dean sucked in a breath, barely managing to tap out a response in the negative with his violently quaking fingers. As soon as the text sent, his phone began ringing with a call from Hermione.

"He's not there? He's not with you?" Hermione asked, her voice bordering on panic. "Are you...are you sure?"

Dean could hear Ron cursing in the background, but he was far too comatose with terror to find it remotely amusing. In fact, he rather felt like doing some swearing as well.

"Absolutely sure," he replied. "What happened? What...what prompted the text? Do you have any idea where he is?"

Ron's swearing rose to a crescendo, and Hermione hissed at him, saying something about Rose and bad influences.

"When Seamus left our house...no, something was bizarre before that. As soon as he stepped in the door, when he saw me cradling Rosie and standing beside Ron, something in his expression broke. Something was awfully, awfully wrong, and when we asked, he didn't want to talk about it. He didn't eat or drink anything, and he...he sort of staggered out the door when it came time to leave. We asked him where he was going before, though, and he said he was to meet you at seven. Dean, do you know if anything happened? Did he mention anything? Is...oh, Merlin, is his mother ill?" babbled Hermione, sounding on the verge of tears.

"His mother died years back, just after we got out of school," replied Dean flatly. "She was very sick—to the point of mental debilitation, actually—for the last few years of his Hogwarts life, so whenever he perceived anything as a slight towards her, he flew off the handle."

"Oh," breathed Hermione, her voice catching on a sob. "That's why he...oh. I feel so terrible now."

"Don't. Just let me finish," he told her. "Yesterday, he broke up with his girlfriend. Said it was him initiating it, but maybe...maybe it wasn't. I don't know. Do you have any idea where he was headed?"

"Probably a bar," offered Ron, sounding grim. "He was headed in the direction of that one he likes, it looked like. What's it called...the Flying something, I think..."

"I know it," replied Dean instantly, racing down the streets. "I'm on my way. It isn't far. I'll run it and let you know later."

With that, he hung up, shoving his phone in his pocket and bursting through the doors of the bar. Rapidly, Dean scanned the crowd clustered by the bar. Growling with frustration, he snagged an employee.

"Can I help you?" asked the bartender tiredly.

"Have you seen a man, about this tall, sandy hair and blue eyes?" he demanded gruffly, gesturing to represent Seamus's height.

"Faint brogue?" checked the bartender, his suddenly eyes focused and alert at the prospect of a missing fellow.

"Yeah," agreed Dean, eyes wild.

"Drinking himself into oblivion over there," replied the bartender.

"Thanks," called Dean, waving and skidding over to the slumped figure at the end of the bar. "Seamus. Seamus."

He grabbed a familiar shoulder, shaking it. The head of sandy hair turned around, revealing bleary, bloodshot blue eyes.

"Wha..." mumbled Seamus, his head drooping to one side.

He giggled, an uncanny grin sliding across his face.

"Oh, Finnigan," he muttered, "you bloody idiot. Arm around my shoulder."

Seamus, showing some vague understanding of the English language, slung a limp arm around Dean's shoulders.

"Kiss me," he gasped, eyes wide.

"Shut it," growled Dean. "I'm paying for your million drinks, so I'll kiss you when I bloody damn well feel like it, not at your prompting."

Carefully, he shifted Seamus's weight, supporting him as they staggered out of the bar. With some maneuvering, Dean managed to slip his phone out of his pocket and send a text to Hermione.

I've got Seamus. He's drunk—very drunk—but alive, read the text. Oh, Merlin, I'm so bloody angry. Would it be wrong if I killed him?

Oh, no. What's happened? Do you have any idea? came Hermione's response, neatly evading the bit regarding murder.

Not a clue, but I'll pry it out of him. He's especially transparent when he's drunk, Dean texted back. I've got to go right now.

"Shiny," mumbled Seamus, his eyelids drooping. "Wha...what's tha...? Herm'ne? She...mam of nice baby...Rosie."

"Shut it," he snapped.

"Ne'er," hiccuped the drunken wizard.

Dean exhaled, frustrated, and hauled his best friend out of the bar. Icy air greeted him with an abrupt slap, and tremors emanated from Seamus's body. Instinctively, Dean tightened his grip on Seamus, pulling him against himself. After several failed attempts, he managed to hail a cab and shove Seamus inside. He breathed out his friend's address, flopping against the cushioned seats.

"You're heavy, Shay," he grunted, leaning over and buckling the wizard in question securely into place before doing the same for himself.

Seamus grumbled, his eyes crossing, and sagged against the glass of the window.

"So yer callin' me fat?" he demanded.

Dean released a laugh despite himself. Even drunk, Seamus was the same, if slightly more free with his emotions.

"Oh, we're here. Thank you, sir," he noticed, sliding the due money to the driver and dragging Seamus out of the cab.

Staggering under the full weight of Seamus, Dean made his way to the doorstep, fishing the keys out of his best friend's pocket and pouring inside.

"'M home," mumbled Seamus, squinting. "How'd I...how'd I get here?"

Dean released a heavy puff of air.

"You reek of alcohol," he told his intoxicated compatriot, "and now I reek of alcohol, too, thanks to your antics. What the bloody hell was that for?"

Seamus's eyes widened slightly, alarmed. Just as quickly, however, they regained their calm glaze.

"Guess yeh...you'll just have to clean m' off, then," he suggested with a hiccup, stumbling over his words and failing miserably at any attempted seduction, "unb'ttoning m' shirt and ever'thin'."

Dean's eyes doubled in size, and he felt heat rise to his cheeks, however much he willed it to go away.

"I can just...y'know...scourgify," he pointed out, flicking his wand.

The reek left Seamus, thankfully, and Dean's nostrils breathed small sighs of relief as the assault ended.

"'S hot in here," complained Seamus.

Somehow, he had shed his coat and shirt in a matter of seconds. Dean blinked, averting his gaze. Evidently, intoxication did not hamper undressing speed; if anything, it seemed to help it along.

"Put that...put that back on right now," he commanded him weakly.

"Like what you see?" asked Seamus, wiggling his eyebrows.

Yes, very much, but that's entirely wrong and stupid and unrequited and it doesn't matter anyway, because it's just all some silly infatuation, one that's only happened to last since...fifth year... thought Dean frantically, wishing fervently that he could perform the scouring charm on his brain.

"Shut up and get to your room," he ordered Seamus, avoiding the sight of his friend's lack of garb.

"Yes, Mam," muttered Seamus, "but not before I get this st'pid thing off..."

Seamus tripped out of his pants, stumbling through his flat and into his bedroom. Dean cringed, picking up his friend's cast-off garments after him. As he arrived in Seamus's room, however, his eyes landed upon one particular article of clothing that most definitely should not have been tossed haphazardly to the ground.

"Oh, Merlin, Seamus! Put your clothes on!" he cried, smacking his hand over his eyes hurriedly.

"'S too hot," he protested.

"At least some pants, then?" offered Dean weakly.

"Fine," huffed Seamus.

Warm breath ghosted across Dean's face, and sweat-sticky skin met his own. Seamus's clammy hands brushed against Dean's own, which were fisted tightly around his best mate's discarded clothing. The sober wizard flinched away, dropping the clothes and flailing his arms wildly. Part of him, the part he tried so very hard to stifle, wanted him to crack his eyes open...take a peek...or maybe even more than a peek...

"Bloody pajama pants, Seamus, not these!" he yelped. "Weren't you just complaining that they were too hot?"

Grumbling, Seamus staggered off, dragging open one of his dresser drawers and presumably pulling out a pair of pajama pants.

"Open yer...yer eyes now," mumbled Seamus.

Dean cracked one eye open and, deeming it safe, opened his other. His friend had curled up in a ball on his bed and was shaking slightly, quiet laughter escaping him. Cautiously, he approached Seamus, wondering what had brought on the sudden joviality, and laid a hand on his shoulder. The smaller wizard tugged away, and a broken sob tore out of him. Dean sucked in a breath of surprise.

"Hey, Shay," he murmured, "what is it? What's happened? What's got you so upset that you needed to get yourself so bloody drunk?"

Seamus gritted his teeth, his jaw clenching. Dean plopped down on the bed beside him. The Irish wizard's muscles tightened, forcibly restraining another sob, but to no avail. A bestial, ragged moan of pain ripped itself from Seamus's chest, and Dean felt something inside him fracture.

"I...I can't," he whispered, shaking uncontrollably. "He doesn't...I love 'im..."

The rest of Seamus's sentence was lost in quiet whimpers. Dean stroked his friend's sandy hair comfortingly, straining not to focus on one particular part of Seamus's sentence. Unbidden, however, the thought came to mind, fluttering with an idiotic sort of hope: Him? Could Seamus, my Seamus, the Seamus I've known and loved since I met him, be anything other than straight?

"Hey, Shay," whispered Dean, his hand unconsciously straying to Seamus's cheek, "don't stop the crying. It only makes it worse. Cry all you want. Get it out. I won't tell anyone, I promise."

Seamus's blue eyes locked with Dean's brown ones, and they widened, something in them cracking. Fat tears bubbled up in them, spilling over. His lower lip trembled violently, and with a convulsive cry that cut at Dean's heart like broken glass, Seamus was a second year again, sobbing into his best friend's shirt because he'd just found that his mother was terminally ill. His face crumpled, and his breaths came in short, fragmented gasps.

"It hurts," he choked out, shuddering violently.

Dean wrapped his arms protectively around Seamus, wanting nothing more to remain this way forever, sheltering him from the world.

"I know," Dean murmured quietly, leaning his head against Seamus's. "I know."

Seamus looked up at him, eyes still red-rimmed and overflowing. His shoulders trembled with each racking sob.

"Stay," he pleaded. "Please, Dean. Stay. Don't 'ver leave me, n't 'ver."

"I won't," he vowed, tightening his hold on his friend.

They fell asleep at some point during the night, with Seamus nestled against Dean, who collapsed sideways upon the pile of pillows, arms wrapped tightly around the smaller boy.


	3. Chapter 3

_Chapter Three_

Dean felt terror paralyze him before he opened his eyes for three reasons. Reason Number One: he was holding someone tightly, a decidedly male someone. Reason Number Two: he was bathed in a tantalizingly familiar scent, one he'd dreamed of forever, and he had no memory whatsoever of how he had come to be surrounded by this wonderful aroma. Reason Number Three: he was lying in an entirely unfamiliar bed.

"Ow," groaned Seamus's voice.

Horror gripped Dean. What had he done the night before, and with Seamus? There was now detectable the faint scent of lingering alcohol, a very suspicious scent. Cautiously, he let his eyes open.

"Er," he managed, "hello, there."

Thankfully, his head didn't feel as though someone was drilling it open with a jackhammer, nor was his stomach writhing like a pit full of Slytherins, meaning either one or the other of two things. Option Number One: he hadn't gotten himself so completely, totally smashed the night before that something entirely wild could have happened. Option Number Two: he hadn't gotten himself smashed at all, and nothing remotely out of the ordinary had occurred. He found that he preferred Option Number Two.

"Ow," repeated Seamus miserably. "Why'd you let me drink so much last night, Dean? My head hurts."

Suddenly, all the memories of the night before came rushing back to him, along with an immense sense of relief.

"You got yourself to that bar right after you met up with Hermione and Ron to welcome Rose into this world," Dean countered accusingly. "I had no bloody idea where you were. I was terrified as hell. What in the name of Merlin was that for?"

Seamus winced.

"I've had...a couple issues," he replied evasively. "Argh, and so has my stomach. If you'll excuse me, I think I'll go toss some chunks."

Seamus slipped away, accompanied by the sound of violent retching. Dean cringed, reaching for his phone and turning it on, sending a quick text to his boss regarding illness and resulting absence. He slipped it into his back pocket. Quickly, he followed Seamus to the bathroom, kneeling beside him and tracing little circles on his back.

"Need anything?" he offered.

"Potion," gagged Seamus, coughing. "Top shelf."

Dean nodded, exiting the bathroom and plucking up a vial of menacing black liquid. He frowned, returning to Seamus's side.

"You shouldn't take this on an empty stomach. It'll only worsen your symptoms," he advised the Irishman.

Seamus's expression twisted in disgust.

"I can't eat right now," he moaned, lurching forward with another heave.

Bile dribbled down his chin, and Dean sighed sympathetically, resting his hand in Seamus's mane of hair, his fingers gently combing through it. The wizard's back muscles tensed, preparing for another heave. More bile.

"Your stomach is empty," Dean notified him softly. "You're just coughing up bile now. You've got to eat something before taking the potion."

Seamus plopped down weakly on the tiled bathroom floor, sagging wearily against the wall. Dean rose and fetched a cloth, wetting it slightly, and knelt beside his friend, gently wiping at his face.

"Thank you, Dean," murmured Seamus, his half-lidded eyes rolling to lock with Dean's gaze.

"'Course," he replied with a smile. "Just don't go and get yourself drunk like that again. I can't take every day off from work."

Seamus's eyes popped wide open, and he stiffened.

"You're skipping work today?" he demanded, horrified. "That's...that's bloody idiotic! You'll lose your job! Go on, get out of here. I can take care of meself—"

With an awful retching noise, Seamus rushed back over to the toilet, forcing up more bile. Dean wrinkled his nose.

"You were saying?" he prompted wryly. "Besides, I've already sent a note to my boss. She'll understand. I haven't taken any other days off, anyway, so this is easily excusable."

Seamus glanced up, seeming almost...shy.

"You're spending your first day off on me? 'Cause I was stupid? You'd really do that?" he inquired.

Dean felt his stomach do a little backflip, which he pointedly ignored. After all, his internal organs had never been trained as gymnasts, and he wasn't all too eager to pick up another profession.

"Well, yeah. You're my best mate," he replied easily.

"Oh," managed Seamus, something in his voice slightly strange.

There was an uncomfortable silence. Part of Dean wished Seamus would break it with retching or something, and he immediately felt guilty. Silently cursing his dreadfulness, he resolved to break the silence himself.

"So," he began, "I'll go make you something light, and then you can take a bit of the potion."

Seamus nodded, lifting a corner of his mouth in a vague parody of his ordinary smile. Dean noticed, wincing slightly at the fact that this was a new discovery, just how pale and sickly he looked. His jaw was clenched tightly, and his eyes were glazed. A greenish cast had come over his complexion, and a sheen of sweat coated his brow. Dean's fingers itched with the perverse wish to draw him for the millionth time and stash the artwork in his secret little corner reserved for...well...Seamus.

"Please, no spices or anything," requested Seamus quietly. "I'm already holding back another hurl."

Dean nodded resolutely, hurrying off to make Seamus breakfast. The rest of the day went by with relative uneventfulness; Seamus perked up after the potion, which evidently worked wonders. With not much to do, they eventually decided to finish decorating the flat for the winter holiday party.

"There isn't all that much that needs finishing," remarked Dean thoughtfully, scanning the room, "but the mistletoe arrangement isn't quite symmetrical, so that needs a spot of fixing, and I put my banner on crookedly."

Seamus laughed.

"So picky," he complained, grinning.

Dean rolled his eyes, setting to work on the mistletoe. He tied it carefully, stepping back and scrutinizing it carefully.

"My half of the room's pretty good," called Dean, stepping back farther, "so far as I can see, that is."

Abruptly, he bumped into Seamus, who stumbled and took another step forward. Dean's arms flailed in a desperate attempt to balance himself, and he toppled backwards. However, his arcing descent was stopped by another wizard, who had miraculously caught his balance. Seamus's arm shot out, catching him around the waist. Quickly, embarrassingly, and profusely, Dean began to blush.

"You're welcome," Seamus told him, his tone rather stiff.

"Have you somehow become graceful? I'm impressed that you didn't fall and knock into something and blow something else up," chuckled Dean.

"Nah. We're just stuck in this particular spot in the room for the time being, at least until the charm wears off," replied Seamus amiably.

"What do you...?" started Dean, trailing off at his friend's gesture to look up. "Oh, fabulous. Just what I needed."

Heat blossomed more, if at all possible, in his face.

"I shouldn't have gotten the charmed mistletoe," sighed Seamus glumly. "I figured it might've been good for, say, Ron and Hermione or Harry and Ginny or something, and I even made sure to memorize the room so I didn't happen under any, but now everything's backfired."

There was an incredibly uncomfortable period of quiet.

"The situation could be worse," offered Dean pathetically.

Seamus didn't respond. His blue eyes focused carefully, zeroing in on Dean's face determinedly, and before Dean could say anything, Seamus had pecked him on the cheek.

"There," he declared, "Done."

Dean stepped back, his face slackening with relief when he managed to get away. He sighed.

"It worked—"

There was a cracking noise, and Dean was dragged violently back under the mistletoe, this time pressed up entirely against Seamus.

"Fantastic," grumbled Seamus. "Cheating doesn't work."

Dean reached his hand behind himself, sliding his phone out of his pocket. With several squawks of discomfort, he managed to maneuver it so that he could see it, resulting in his arms wrapped around Seamus.

"I'm texting Hermione for help," he explained.

Ah, Hermione, are you free just about now? Seamus and I have a slight dilemma, he texted her.

I can't. Terribly sorry, replied Hermione after a few moments.

Dean groaned.

It's fine. I'll text Ginny.

"She's not available?" guessed Seamus.

"Yeah. Texting Ginny," agreed Dean, frowning. "Oh, Merlin, is she going to get a laugh out of this one."

"Dean!" cried Seamus, his face turning crimson. "She isn't going to help us; she's going to laugh and make us...y'know...get out of it the proper way!"

Dean paused, his thumb hovering over the Send button. Closing his eyes, he sighed and slid his phone back away.

"Well, we've got no other options. Those are the only two I know of who are around today to help us," mumbled Dean.

"Fine, then. At least we won't have an audience," sighed Seamus, squeezing his eyes shut tightly.

"Oh, am I that awful?" laughed Dean bitterly. "Right, then. Just a quick little kiss, and we won't ever talk about it again. Fine. Mistletoe is cliché, anyway."

Seamus opened his sapphire eyes. They glinted with determination and fire, the way Dean always strove to draw them, and they drew nearer at an alarmingly rapid pace. Seamus lifted a hand to the collar of Dean's shirt, crumpling the fabric and tugging him down rather suddenly. Their lips met in an instant, and Dean's own eyes popped wide open, locking with a blue pair. Seamus angled his head, pressing closer, wrapping his arms around Dean's neck. Dean felt his heart, his stomach, his mind explode. Seamus always was good with spontaneous combustion, he thought numbly. Too soon, however, it was over. Seamus released Dean quickly, silently, leaving him cold and empty and feeling ready to cry. With a small sound, the smaller wizard backed away.

"I...I freed us from the mistletoe," was all he summed that up with.

Dean's heart stopped. It was agony. Averting his eyes, blinking back tears, he stepped away and sucked in a deep breath. It was time to summon up some of that acclaimed Gryffindor courage.

"Seamus, I—oh, sod it all. I like...I've liked you for awhile now—more than liked you, and not...Merlin, not in a platonic way, as much as I wish it was—and I don't even...I can't play games like this. It hurts too much. If you want to toy with someone else's heart, fine. Just...please...for the sake of our friendship, don't toy with mine," Dean pleaded, the words rising unbidden to his mouth and spilling out uncontrollably.

Seamus stared at him wordlessly, his blue eyes glittering. Dean stared back, waiting for a response. At last, one came—Seamus looked down. Not even bidding him goodbye, Dean turned on his heel and apparated home.


	4. Chapter 4

_Chapter Four_

Seamus cried again, but he didn't have Dean to hold him this time, and it was all the worse, because it was entirely his fault.

"I'm so sorry," he sobbed, curling up into a ball. "I'm so, so sorry...so sorry..."

He rocked back and forth, choking out loud, violent sobs that echoed in the all-too empty flat. If only he'd said goodbye...if only he'd said _something_ to make Dean stay... _But that would've been selfish,_ Seamus berated himself, burying his face in his hands. _The kiss was selfish, so, so selfish, but it was so, so wonderful...and now he's going to hate me. I can't tell him. He won't understand that it's for him. He doesn't want to be with me. He doesn't want to be seen as that way everywhere he goes._ Seamus bit back another sob, shuddering violently and gasping for breath. Another fit of storming sobbing overcame him.

Quite loudly and suddenly, the phone rang, jerking him out of his miseries. Sniffling and swallowing several times, he rose, retreating to the kitchen, where the phone sat. Wiping away the tears obscuring his vision, Seamus glanced at the caller ID. Swallowing once more and hoping he didn't sound like a desolate wreck, he picked up the phone.

"Hey, Hermione," he greeted her, sniffling.

"Seamus?" she checked. "Oh, yes, good. You sound terrible, dear. Ah, are you and Dean free of your...dilemma, as he phrased it? I texted him, but he didn't reply."

"He didn't?" Seamus wondered aloud.

"Er, well, actually, he did," she hedged tentatively, "But it was something along the lines of 'bugger off; it's none of your bloody business' or something. I don't think he's all too pleased."

Seamus winced.

"'S me fault," he mumbled, "but yeah, we're out of _that_ dilemma."

"Out of the frying pan and into the fire?"

"Mm-hm."

Hermione was silent for a little while. Rose released a joyful, gurgling squeal in the background.

"Seamus, have you...have you sorted it out with Dean? Have you told him, and that's what's got him so mad?" she asked worriedly. "He really doesn't seem the type to become flustered over these things."

"What?" cried Seamus. "Told him what? I didn't have to tell him anything."

Hermione laughed.

"Merlin, you silly duck, stop trying to hide it," she chided him gently. "Has that been what's made you so upset the past while? Oh, no...was that what made you...made you get yourself intoxicated?"

Her voice had dropped to an anxiously hushed whisper.

"Wow, Hermione. You're a ruddy fantastic reader of people," he muttered, "and no, _I_ didn't tell _him_."

Hermione gasped.

"Did...is he...?" she managed.

"I think that's enough," bit out Seamus, his tone clipped. "Goodbye."

"No. Wait—"

He hung up, dropping the phone and banging his head on the wall. Several times. Hard. _Extremely_ hard. The sharp edge of the doorframe clipped the side of his forehead, and a warm trickle of blood slid down the side of his face.

"Merlin's saggy left... _beard_ ," he growled, clapping a hand to the cut on his head. "Yes, brilliant, Seamus, because Merlin has a _right_ beard, too, and you've just got to specify _which_ beard...oh, bloody—hell..."


	5. Chapter 5

_Chapter Five_

Dean was going to cry. Tears swam in his vision, making it all the worse when he walked unexpectedly into the corner of a table. Swearing loudly, he removed the salty lubrication from his eyes with one angry swipe of his hand. With a despairing cry, Dean collapsed on his bed, crumpling into a small ball. He kept mentally replaying the kiss, the way Seamus had smelled, had practically vibrated with vibrant vitality against him. His arms tensed, yearning to wrap once more around the smaller wizard.

"I miss you already, Shay," he whispered, closing his eyes. "Can I come and curl up in your bed? It's so much more comfortable, and it smells like you, too..."

His voice shook and broke. Tears pushed at his eyes, trying desperately to escape, but he swiped frantically at them with his bedsheet before they could roll down his face. Dean would not cry, not over this. It was only...it was only the one person he'd loved for years practically saying he was only another game...

The phone rang, saving Dean from a fit of howling rage and sadness. Regaining control of his breath, Dean stood, heading to the phone.

"'Lo," he greeted Ginny. "Can I help you, madam?"

"Well, I suppose," replied Ginny, sounding a bit dubious, "but I'm helping Hermione, so you're really helping her by extraction...although I won't pretend this isn't in the least self-serving."

"Can we not talk about that, please?" asked Dean flatly. "I'm not in the mood."

"Something happened with Seamus, I know that much. Did you tell him?" demanded Ginny.

Dean very nearly dropped the phone.

"'Scuse you?" he spluttered. "What...what do you mean, did I tell him? Tell him what? I...I've got nothing to tell him. You're being bloody ridiculous."

"What're you talking 'bout, Gin?" called Harry, his voice muffled.

"Oh, y'know, Dean, Seamus, everything that's absolutely none of our business," responded Ginny offhandedly.

He could practically hear the devilish smirk in her voice. Once upon a time, he had adored that impish grin, the twinkle in those brown eyes that had accompanied it...until his preferences had begun tugging him in another direction entirely.

"I see," chuckled Harry. "Perhaps they just need a bit of a shove in the right direction...on through the portrait hole, if you get my meaning."

Dean narrowed his eyes. No, he didn't get Harry's meaning.

"Oi," protested Ginny, "I'm still cross about that, you cheater."

There was a muffled thump, presumably Ginny swatting Harry rather hard, and an apologetic yelp.

"I'm going to go now," hedged Dean. "I seem to be intruding on some private conversations."

"Oh, no, you don't!" Ginny countered. "We're talking this through until you're bloody pouring out all your darkest secrets to your Seamus."

"My Seamus? Finnigan doesn't belong to anyone. He belongs to himself, as he made pretty damn clear," muttered Dean.

"He does belong to you, Dean. Neither of you see it yet, though," insisted Ginny. "Now, have you told him or not?"

"How do you know about this?" queried Dean suspiciously. "And why are you interrogating me?"

"Oh, please. You two are terrible at hiding your feelings," laughed Ginny. "Honestly, the way the two of you walk around making sheep's eyes at each other, you'd think you're a newly married couple."

"Would you like to know exactly what happened, then?" bit out Dean, his tone acidic. "I can tell you, if you'd like, just so long as it'll get you off this stupid obsession of yours—which, evidently, you share with Hermione."

"Oh, yes, do tell," Ginny prompted him urgently.

"Fine. I told him...I told him I liked him," sighed Dean, ignoring Ginny's delighted squeal, "and then I told him to stop messing around, because it really was unkind to toy with people's hearts."

"Wait a second. How did this start?" inquired Ginny.

"Mistletoe," replied Dean irritably, "that's how."

Ginny squealed, and Harry whistled appreciatively.

"You sure are good at this. I could use a couple tips. Not even I can manipulate our location so neatly," Ginny's husband remarked.

"That's not what happened!" cried Dean shrilly. "It was a complete accident, and the mistletoe was charmed, and we had to kiss, and it could've been a friendly little peck on the lips, but he had to go and throw everything off and make my world go spinning off its bloody axis and...and..."

"Oh," breathed Ginny, "that's just beautiful, Dean."

"He was playing around, though," continued Dean unsteadily, his voice cracking. "I told him...I asked that he not toy with my heart, because it certainly seemed like that was what he was doing. He'd been dating so many different girls, and he just...out of the blue... I asked that of him, and he...he looked away. I know him, Ginny. I've known him since first year. That was as good as any refusal from him."

There was silence on the other end of the line.

"I'm going to murder him," announced Ginny perkily. "I'm going to take these garden shears, flay him, and neatly pluck out his organs so they can be fed to our cats."

"Ginny, he's a friend," Harry reminded her patiently, calmly, "even if he did believe all the rubbish printed about me in the Daily Prophet back then."

"That was because of his mum," Dean piped up, defending Seamus automatically. "She was terminally ill and delusional, but he...he's so fiercely loyal that he refused to believe she wasn't in her right mind when she said the things she did, and when you prodded at the topic of her, he got furious."

Once again, there was silence.

"Oh," Harry finally managed, "I see. What...what happened to her?"

"She died," replied Dean simply.

Ginny sighed mournfully.

"I don't think I'll kill him now," admitted Ginny sadly, "but I won't stop trying to fix you two, I promise, and neither will Hermione. Goodbye, Dean. Talk to you later."

She hung up on Dean, who placed the phone back in its holder and shakily sucked in a breath of air.

"Thanks, Gin," he murmured, closing his eyes, "but I don't think there's any repair in sight for us."

And he finally allowed himself to burst into tears.


	6. Chapter 6

_Chapter Six_

It had been an entire week without even texting Seamus, and the pain was unbearable. Dean coped, however, by drowning himself in piles and piles of work; it was an effective anesthetic. He threw himself so wholly into puzzling out the Ministry's crime cases that he went to sleep and awoke with his head swimming with crises.

"Are you all right, Mr. Thomas?" inquired his boss once, her brow furrowed in concern. "You're speaking even less than usual, and you've extended your hours to a rather ghastly end. Is something the matter?"

He'd flashed her a brief, faded smile.

"Nothing. Just...really into my work, y'know?" he chuckled weakly. "Now, if you'll excuse me..."

"Right."

Occasionally, he took a break to release his artistic side. These sessions began at approximately ten at night and ended somewhere in the wee hours of the morning, and they often came in the form of heated, explosive outbursts during which he concentrated on nothing but his art. Sometimes, he'd collapse right after completing a piece, and he'd jerk awake to his alarm covered in dried paint and sweat. Most were sold to galleries, but some...some had to stay hidden. His art was his vent, and undesirable things cropped up in it all too often. Brooding, Dean mulled this over, sketching his favorite tree in the park and glancing down at it absently to see how it was coming along. His eyelids fluttered, and his lips drew back in an angry snarl.

"Damn it," he swore, shoving the parchment away.

With pathetic predictability, Seamus had appeared in the drawing, nestled between two thick tree branches and smiling brightly, eyes sparkling even when uncolored. Dean stared at it, wanting—needing to get angry at that face, at that beautifully grinning face, and so hopelessly incapable of doing so. With a broken cry, he kicked back the chair, rising to his feet, and clutched his head in his hands. Magic thrummed inside him, vibrating in his veins with an energy eager to be released. His pulse roared in his ears, emotion filling him to the brim, and all the windows of his flat shattered inwards at once, large shards spraying through the air; at the same time, the chandelier in his room yanked itself free, bursting into millions of tiny pieces. Dean curled up into a little ball on the floor, numb to the slicing of the glass along his face and arms, and sucked in a shaky breath, holding it in his lungs. With an explosive exhalation, Dean sprawled out on the mattress of broken glass, not even minding as his pencils and paintbrushes and scissors became magic-enhanced flying projectiles around him. The wards went off, alerting friends and magical authorities. I should probably switch those off, thought Dean tiredly.

"What the bloody hell happened in here?" came Ron's voice.

"What...?" cried Hermione's voice from the living room. "Dean? Dean!"

"The windows...all broken," murmured Harry, his voice echoing.

Several figures stormed into the room, each releasing different exclamations of startlement at the small whirlwind of art tools inside.

"Dean?" called Ginny, pulling out her wand and flicking it.

The storm of objects subsided, and they fell to the floor. A rather heavy pencil sharpener landed on Dean's forehead, forcing a small yelp from between his lips.

"Oh, Merlin," gasped Hermione, kneeling by his side. "Dean, what happened? Was there an attack?"

Dean shook his head, blinking the black spots out of his eyes.

"We've told the authorities to stand by; we're here to make sure everything's alright. Do we need to have someone come in?" asked Harry, frowning.

He shook his head again.

"Sorry. You...you can just leave now," he forced out. "I got a spot irritated, and I s'pose my magic went a bit mad, too."

"Oh, yeah. You only destroyed your entire flat," replied Ron, narrowing his eyes. "What happened to get you this upset, mate?"

"Drawings. Life. Seamus," he replied listlessly by way of explanation.

Hermione touched the side of his face gingerly, and he sucked in a hissing breath as her fingers ghosted over the spot where the pencil sharpener had whacked him.

"You need to get to the hospital and make sure there's been no severe damage," she told him urgently.

Dean's world was now spinning and fading to black, but he could still piece things together.

"No, I can't go to the hospital," he mumbled. "No...because Seamus..."

However, he could not provide any further coherent arguments, as he was very much unconscious.


	7. Chapter 7

_Chapter Seven_

Seamus ran his fingers through his hair as he made his way through the hospital hallways, releasing a tense breath of air. Absently drumming his fingers on the clipboard, he stopped outside the door of the next patient, rereading the room number as a precaution. Almost unconsciously, he avoided looking at the patient's name; it made his job too personal in the event that they didn't survive.

"Hello," he began, opening the door and walking towards the bed and stopping abruptly. "Ah...Harry?"

The esteemed Harry Potter glanced up, his green eyes faded with exhaustion and stress. Seamus's throat constricted, and he found himself struggling to breathe. Who was the patient?

"Hey, Seamus," Harry greeted him with a wan smile. "Well...we needed to leave someone behind with him, at least until a trusted Healer came along, and so I opted for staying. Hermione and Ron have got Rose to take care of, and Ginny was exhausted."

Seamus forced himself to breathe enough to manage his next question.

"Um...but...don't you have James to deal with and...Albus on the way?" he asked, frowning.

"James certainly is a rambunctious fellow, but he's less needy than Rose at this stage of life. It was still rather alarming when we had to get up and disapparate, though," chuckled Harry humorlessly. "Well, I've got a pregnant wife and toddler to get back to, so..."

"Bye," murmured Seamus, staring at the figure on the bed.

"Bye," replied Harry, standing and disapparating.

Seamus made his way numbly to the bedside, staring. _Please, don't let this be the nightmare again,_ he thought frantically, begging whatever heavenly deities there were to prevent the cruelty. The familiar sight of Dean's face, twisted with the agony of dying, flashed before his eyes. ' _It's your fault, Shay,'_ he choked out every time. ' _I only wish...'_

"Dean?" he asked, his voice an octave higher than normal.

The figure stirred, slowly returning to consciousness, and turned over, his face coming into the light.

"Seamus," whispered Dean.

Seamus's breath hitched in his throat, and he swallowed a sob. Carefully, he lifted one hand to touch Dean's face, his fingers brushing over it gently. Deep cuts were scattered freely across his face, and an ugly bruise was forming on his forehead. Closing his eyes, Dean lifted a hand to Seamus's, touching it lightly. A jolt, almost like electricity, shot through Seamus at the contact, and he snatched his hand away, plucking out his wand and waving it for a quick body scan.

"What...what happened to you?" asked Seamus, his voice trembling.

"Don't blow me up," was all Dean could manage before lapsing back into unconsciousness.

"I'll try not to," he promised, mustering a small smile.

Seamus quietly tended to the wounds covering Dean's body, using a Vulnera Sanentur and tracing his wand over the wounds and sealing them. His hands quivered with pent-up anger. Whoever had hurt him like this... _Probably me,_ thought Seamus with a cringe. When all the superficial injuries were gone, Seamus waved his wand again, scanning the brain and taking care to keep breathing. Quickly, he repaired any remaining damage and backed away, sliding his wand back into his pocket and doing his best to quietly exit the room.

"Stay," Dean blurted out, his eyes snapping wide open. " _Please_ , Seamus. Stay."

Seamus nodded. What he wanted to do, _yearned_ to do, was take Dean in his arms, kiss that broken tone away, hold him there forever.

"Okay," he finally replied.

Dean closed his eyes again, burrowing into his pillows with a sigh. There was a long silence.

"Could you...could you sit there?" he requested, his voice almost shy.

"'Course," answered Seamus, forcing his limbs to move.

Stiffly, he approached Dean, bending his knees so that sit on the bed. Its springs squealed, the mattress giving way.

"Thanks," mumbled Dean.

Seamus swallowed.

"What...what happened to you?" he inquired weakly.

 _Please, please don't let it have been self-inflicted,_ he begged any and all merciful spirits there were. Dean didn't respond, however, not for a long while, and when Seamus looked at him in askance, he jumped. Those solemn brown eyes were regarding him, examining him.

"I was upset," he finally relented.

Seamus felt something in his chest tighten, and his heart nearly stopped.

"You...you did that to yourself," he whispered, feeling the blood drain from his face. "Please tell me you didn't try to...try to—"

"I didn't try to kill myself," Dean cut him off flatly. "Why would you care, though? I'm just another game, right?"

Tears rose in Seamus's eyes.

"I'm sorry," he apologized, blinking back the tears.

"I don't know as sorry can fix anything anymore. It's a bit too late," murmured Dean, clenching his jaw. "You hurt me, Seamus. You hurt me a _lot_ , and I don't know how you can ever fix it."

"I know," he forced out, a silent sob racking his body.

"Why, though, Seamus? Was our friendship throughout all those years just so worthless that you cast it aside to toy with me?"

Dean lifted his eyes to meet Seamus's, a desperately pleading gleam in them, and the internal war that had been raging within him exploded.

"You were supposed to think that," he blurted out, slapping a hand over his mouth.

"What...?"

"Nothing!"

" _What do you mean_?" demanded Dean angrily. "I'm _done_ dancing around it, Seamus! If you can't give me a straight answer—"

 _Ha. Straight. That's funny._

"Fine!" cried Seamus hopelessly. "I...you...it was for your own good."

"Oh, yes, because kissing me like that—like I've wanted to kiss you for _years_ , by the way—and then telling me it's all a fun game is for my good. Fantastic logic."

Seamus shook his head as if to rid himself of confusion. It didn't work.

"You didn't say _years_ ," he objected stubbornly. "You just said 'awhile now.'"

"What difference does it make?" snapped Dean. "Get to the point, Finnigan, or don't at all. Ever."

"I thought it was a passing infatuation," mumbled Seamus.

Dean narrowed his eyes.

"Since when have I been one for passing infatuations? I thought you knew me better," he bit out.

"Yeah, well, when did you start...y'know...liking me?" challenged Seamus.

"Just about right after I got over Ginny," returned Dean, "Which makes it, yes, _years_."

"Still not nearly as long as I've loved you. How do I know it hasn't been an on and off thing, a rebellious phase you'll eventually get over? How do I know it's not just _your_ silly game, something you want to experiment with secretly for a little bit and throw away when you get tired of it?" laughed Seamus humorlessly. " _How do I know_?"

Dean stared at him, bewildered, and Seamus glowered.

"You just...you just said..." he coughed, struggling with words.

"Said _what_?"

"You love me."

"Congratulations. You've bloody figured it out."

Dean looked down, hesitating, and Seamus felt his anger waver. He rarely saw Dean so vulnerable, so...afraid.

"I...I've figured something else out, I s'pose, though I've probably known it all along," continued Dean, fiddling with the covers.

Seamus's heart skipped a beat.

"What's that?" he managed, his voice pathetically weak.

"I love you, too," burst out Dean, finally meeting Seamus's gaze.

Being the graceful, ever-prepared wizard he was, Seamus tripped over his feet and his words simultaneously.

"I...you... _what_?"

"I love you, Seamus Finnigan, and I'm sorry I didn't see it sooner," reiterated Dean sincerely.

He stood up from the bed, swaying slightly, and Seamus instinctively leapt up and supported him, still processing the words. Blue eyes wide, he turned to stare at Dean, who mustered a smile before pressing his lips tightly against Seamus's. It was even better than Seamus remembered, with warmth and love and explosions—internalized ones, though; he'd get fired if he actually blew anything up. Gently, carefully, he entwined his arms around Dean's neck, hugging him closer, leaning forward and up. Dean turned them around quickly, pressing him up against the wall and immobilizing him rather effectively. They broke apart for air, sucking in ragged breaths.

"You're certainly...certainly experienced," gasped Seamus.

"You're not so bad yourself," replied Dean, grinning.

Seamus grinned and kissed Dean again. This one was more heated, less of tender sweetness and more of desperate longing, a need to make up for the years they'd lost. Dean tilted his head to one side, deepening the kiss, and ran his fingers through Seamus's already-rumpled hair. Seamus squirmed to one side, forcing a loud groan from Dean's mouth, and laughed quietly.

"Dean," he whispered, his tongue darting out to trace Dean's smile.

"Seamus," Dean whispered back, biting down on Seamus's lower lip.

Seamus gasped, eyes fluttering wide open, and laughed again, breathless.

"I get the feeling this is against the rules. Might get sacked," he chuckled.

Dean detached himself, disappointment visible in his features. Seamus proudly noted his uncharacteristically mussed state, his bright eyes, his heavy breathing.

"Oh. Sorry."

"Don't be," Seamus told him fiercely, grabbing hold of his hand. " _Never_ be sorry for this. I'm not. I won't be, even if all my superiors walk into this room right now, see us, and fire me. I love you, Dean Thomas, and by Merlin, _I'm not sorry_."

Dean smiled, a truly beautiful expression that lit up his entire face.

"All right," he agreed, "I'm not sorry, either...but perhaps it would be best if you didn't get fired. I don't plan on being the one financial supporter in this relationship."

Seamus stared.

"Re...relationship?" he repeated, oh so _very_ astutely.

"You didn't plan on friend zoning me, did you?" asked Dean, amused.

"Of course not!" protested Seamus quickly.

Dean grinned.

"Didn't think so. That makes it an official relationship, then, doesn't it?" he pointed out, his grin growing.

"Well, I'd like to officially ask you, then," replied Seamus, holding Dean's gaze. "Dean, will you be my boyfriend?"

"I, Dean Thomas, take you, Seamus Finnigan, to be my lawfully...er...lawful boyfriend, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until either death or relationship issues do us part," promised Dean with a solemn nod.

"Practicing, then?" he laughed.

"What better time to do so?"

"Well, maybe _after_ the marriage proposal, but I'm not objecting. Oh, and speaking of this whole relationship thing, when are we breaking it to the others?" inquired Seamus.

Dean thought for a moment.

"How about an elaborate mistletoe 'accident' at the holiday party directly following a staged fight involving dangerous hexes?" Dean suggested.

"Sounds perfect."

"My ideas always are."

"Just like you, then."

"Opposites attract. Makes sense as to why I love you."

"Hey!"

Laughing, Dean kissed Seamus, effectively eliminating any further complaints he may have had.


End file.
